Excrapy, The Theory Explained

I’m no physicist, but I suspect that I have concocted a grand new theory of how the universe operates. It is not a theory based on equilibrium, like many others, but perhaps lends more to the concept of Entropy. Entropy is a number representing chaos and it is always increasing. Even if you hoover your flat, you are re-arranging all the filth and objects in a way which is technically further away from its previous configuration, thus increasing the amount of disorder in the universe. As I said, I’m no physicist, and am sure the scrappy definition above will be happily dissected and burned (in a bin of sufficient size).

My theory is The Theory of Excrapy. It describes the fact that everything, over time, becomes slowly and incrementally crapper. For example, the pasta tub that I buy from Tesco for lunch in the misguided belief that it is much better for you than, say, a haggis supper, went up in price by 12 pence last week. One more increment of crapulation right there. The Council Tax freeze sounded good, until I learned that council workers would be laid off as a result. No belt-tightening or elimination of waste there then, just a simple cull. Many more increments of crap. A light bulb blows, a cable snaps off the ‘Squinty Bridge’ across the Clyde, my father has a minor car accident, a motorways gets given the go-ahead in seriously dubious circumstances, Bush tightens controls on tourists entering America, Putin delivers another snipe at the West, a birthday comes and goes, the McDonalds 2-for-1 vouchers expire. You see, the world is full of small increments of crap that accumulate into a tidal wave of sewage being surfed by the top-hatted fat-cat capitalists that turn our globe with the arms of industry. I’ll put your complaint letter by my bust of Lenin, don’t worry.

The research into this theory will involve mice undergoing the daily tribulations of life and measurement of the anxiety that follows:

Experiment 1: A mouse is put into a small vehicle that can be operated by whisker. It is made to merge into a stream of traffic generated by other mice, and is viciously cut up by the other rodentmobiles. Anxiety from the crapness of life results and is measured by cranial probing.

Experiment 2: A mouse is put through an interview by a specially-trained authoritarian cat. The reward for success is a life-time in the grind of a spirit-sapping company run by said cat. Failure is rewarded by instant death by consumption. Anxiety measured in both eventualities.

Experiment 3: A mouse is made to iron 400 shirts and then subjected to candle-wax dripping on its chest as is common in some of the more interesting brothels in my dear home city. Anxiety measured and a value of crapness attributed.

Experiment 4: An innocent mouse has an ear grown on its back and is then interviewed by Jeremy Paxman about his role in the alleged bribery of a High Court Judge in the infamous Kitten-Bugging Scandal of ’04. A value of crapness is assigned to the mouse’s broken heart at the injustice of it all.

Experiment 5: A mouse is brought up from birth to believe that it is a beautiful swan and then, in old age, is invited to swim across a pond. Anxiety measured as it drowns and level of crapness decided accordingly, once again.

Experiment 6: A male mouse is induced to fall in love with another mouse. This other mouse has been trained in the art of deception, and they are treated to many nights out together, eating spaghetti on a moonlit porch in the French Riviera, sampling delectable wines with the 'he mouse' climbing the ivy of a night to reach the balcony of his love, so as to indulge in the heady passion of gaining the merest glimpse of the beautiful visage of his mirthful companion. At a predestined date, the wig and mask disguising the ‘female’ mouse is removed to reveal a horrid boil-ridden monster mouse, and the original mouse feels only self-loathing and disgust. Cranial probing commences.

At the end, all surviving mice will have their level of excrapy measured, just to prove that is has grown incrementally as the days in captivity and grievous human-life-mimicking torture proceeds.

Every physical constant of course needs a unit of measurement and an object of calibration. The unit of measurement is to be called ‘the feltz’. A kilofeltz, therefore, is defined as equal to your favourite pub burning down. A feltz, perhaps, would be missing a bus, or taking a pie out the oven, placing it on your plate while you salivate with anticipation, only to stick your knife in and discover the deceptive filling is still cool on the inside. Creamy chicken stirred with asparagus can outwit a human being like no other, lesser, filling, you see.
But, I hear you scream, just audible above the sounds of those voices telling me to murder kittens to appease Freedbot, the Liberty God, there are many beautiful and wonderful things happening in the world. Indeed, a friend of mine has just had a baby. That must be a life-affirming situation of a scale and intensity that I cannot yet hope to understand. My point is though, that the positive events are normally glitches. Small spikes on an otherwise steady descent into depravity. I need to believe this piece of delusion if I am to have a hope in hell’s chance of getting that research grant for my copious embezzlement needs.